The Real Tinuviel
by Anoriel
Summary: Right... so there's this Wood Elf named Tinuviel, and she keeps a journal, and this is it. FINALLY updated, for your amusement.
1. 16 Last Seed

Premise: This is an idea of what would happen if players could actually use their journals... to write in, I mean. Yeah.

The Real Tinuviel

16 Last Seed (Day 1)

Been having rather strange dreams lately, ones involving tinny disembodied female voices and some twaddle about being "chosen." This all is most disconcerting.

The whole waking-up process this morning wasa bitdisconcerting, actually. I was having one of those odd dreams again when some Dunmer in his underwear shook me awake, pulled me to my feet, and expressed a sudden interest in my name. I rattled off "Tinuviel" ratherabsently, and then it dawned on me that I was standing in a _boat_. I don't remember ever getting on a _boat_!

Fortunately, that was when Mr. Uppity Purple Skirt Man decided to come down into what I assumed to be the brig -- I mean, me being a prisoner and all. I recognized _him_ from the carriage, and for once I was somewhat relieved to see him. That is, until he practically dragged me up on deck, barking at me most uncivilly to "keep things as civil as possible."

Please. At least _I_ don't wear a purple skirt.

That reminds me. My clothes. They suck. Dirty off-white is so not my color. I'll remember to look for a clothing shop when I get to Balmora -- that Altmer Arille doesn't stock crap. Crap clothes, crap weapons, crap potions...

Yeah. Course, I have next to no money anyway.

So after I got up on deck I found another purple skirt guard man, whose only job (it appears) was to direct me to yet a _third_ purple skirt guard man. This third one was so thick he couldn't even tell I was Bosmer. He said to me, in this smug little self-satisfied voice all Imperials seem to have, "You've finally arrived, but our records don't show from where." Ooh, wouldn't you just love to know it, too. Evidently, the Imperials think that every race has special "abilities" that make it different from the other races. I dunno. It sounds like profiling to me. If only my lawyer wasn't still in Valenwood...

Then I followed purple skirt guard man number three to this strange fairy-tower-looking building that happened to be the Customs and Excise Office. There was another purple skirt guard man inside, but this time there was also an old fart who asked me a lot of pointless questions. "If you found a bag of coins on the side of the road, blah blah blah..."

He spent a couple of minutes frowning and furrowing the remains of his eyebrows at my answers, and then told me rather portentously that I am a Thief (with a capital T). Then he went into this little lecture about the rashness of modern youth. Oh, like _he_ wouldn't keep a bag of coins he found on the side of the road.

Then he asked me what sign I was born under. I couldn't for the life of me remember -- it's the Altmer and Bretons who are all into that astrology stuff -- so I picked the Shadow 'cos, well, I guess it sounded good. Evidently, I can turn invisible at will.

Why did the old fart sound so dreadfully _impatient_? From the way he talked, you'd think he processes random parolees like me twenty times a day. And I'd be willing to bet the rest of his hair that he doesn't.

I continued on to the next room, which I then proceeded to rob bare. What the hell, I'm a Thief, right? Anyway, I strongly doubt anybody in the Customs and Excise Fairy Tale Castle is going to miss an iron dagger and a couple of loaves of bread.

Just to further my Thief-ness, I robbed the barrel outside too. Found a very pretty ring.

After one final purple skirt guard man encounter with a chap who looked to be the head purple skirt guard man, I was out. I have instructions to go to Balmora -- wherever that is -- and deliver a package to one Caius Cosades. Perhaps another purple skirt guard man?

Well I can't wait to leave. Seyd -- Sod -- whatever -- is extremely boring. The locals here are all so _mean_! Perhaps this has something to do with my level 35 personality... not sure.

The only other Bosmer here is about five feet shorter than I am, and even _he_ was mean until I gave him back what turned out to be his ring. So now it's me who hates him, not the other way around.

And for some reason that wrinkly Altmer Eldafire (or whoever she is) thinks I'm a tourist, and she doesn't hesitate to voice this clever theory of hers with the most annoying patronizing air. Dammit, I am _not_ a tourist! Unlike a tourist, I have no particular wish to be here. And these brown leggy things I'm wearing attached to stripy socks are definitely not Bermuda shorts.

Honestly. It makes me wonder how these people treat their actual tourists. And that's when I realize just why this "damp little squat" is so underpopulated.

Ugh. I'm going to the bar now. Might as well put these septims to some good use.

Sujamma...

* * *

A/N: I have this sinking suspicion that "Tinuviel" is LOTR related... but whatever. Forgive me, Tolkien + fans, if I have unwittingly started a crossover of sorts. Mreh. 


	2. 17 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

17 Last Seed (Day 2) -- 12:23 AM

Well. It would seem my much awaited departure from Seyda Neen has been delayed temporarily -- but who am I to pass up on a bit of easy money? I was up at the bar, about to drown my sorrows in greef, when this foul-smelling Nord (foul-smelling... well what else is new...) named Hriskaar caught my attention. He was doing a right good job of it too, yammering his troubles to everyone in the room like an old aunt with a bludgeon problem. I learned he was in a bit of -- er -- financial trouble with a certain Fargoth, and he wanted his 300 septims back.

At this point I was rather unpleasantly reminded of that annoying fellow Bosmer who took his (cough _my_) ring from me. So...

I twiddled my fingers malevolently. "Hriskaar," I addressed the Nord.

"Seen any elves?" he chuckled stupidly. I failed to see the humor, but I did not comment. After all, I had a deal to make.

"Ha ha. You're clever. Say Hriskaar, what would be in it for me if I, ehm, got your money back?"

The large one stroked his filthy beard thoughtfully. "Hm, well I suppose... I _could_ give you a cut of the septims... Is 100 good?"

Good? Good? Well coming from a Nord this was quite generous. And I confess I'm not planning on returning the money anyway...

We shook hands and sealed the deal. I was (and am still) eager for my revenge.

So here I write, perched precariously on top of this moldering old lighthouse -- the only remotely respectable edifice in this smelly town. I can see Fargoth down below. He's obviously sneaking; I can tell because he looks about ready to upchuck a couple of nix hounds... But if he's trying to sneak, then why the hell is he carrying a torch?

Oh, I forgot. He's an idiot.

Right, he's heading for the tree now... now skirting the purple skirt guard man... moving towards the pond...

The pond?

Oh _crap_ no.

Not the hollow treestump. Tell me it isn't the hollow treestump. Even the idiots of our race can come up with better hidey holes than a frikking _hollow treestump_. Please Fargoth, please reveal some hidden trap door in the pond floor that spills into an enormous batcave where you keep your ill-gotten goods. Anything, _anything_ but the --

Treestump. Sigh. Well I suppose I have a deal to uphold.

17 Last Seed (Day 2) – 8:45 AM

Thank _God_ I'm finally out of there. You know what? Fargoth's a bigger idiot than I thought. Not only did he keep money in that treestump, he also kept my lovely cheap enchanted ring -- which I took back -- and a nifty little lockpick that he was probably too stupid to ever use -- which I also took.

Plus I managed to loot the lighthouse rather nicely on the way down. Picked up a very odd book... but it fetched quite a sum at Arille's. I feel very rich now.

I met dear old Fargoth on my way out this morning. He was at the edge of the village, moping about how the Imperials had just stolen everything he owned of value. I suppressed a smirk.

Revenge is indeed sweet.

So right now I'm headed for Balmora on the back of this enormous -- um -- bug thing. I didn't really feel like traveling through miles and miles of crab-infested swampland, so I figured I'd exploit some poor creature for my own benefit.

Ah well. It's all good.

* * *

A/N: Well thank you all for your lovely reviews... I would have updated sooner but dear mother is restricting my computer access. (Apparently she believes I am addicted to certain pc games... :P) 

Yeah. So. Read on, ye Morrowind geeks, read on.

Oh yes. And I do remember Luthien Tinuviel now, thank you Satura.

--Anoriel


	3. 18 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

18 Last Seed (Day 3) -- 8:56 PM

Balmora is pree-ty, in my expert thief/parolee opinion. But I have officially decided that the people of Vvardenfell freak me out. I was coming down a flight of stairs after disembarking the silt strider, and I passed by this Argonian who was pacing a few feet away. So she whips around, all suddenly and everything, nearly whacking me with her enormous tail, and she croaks, "The prey, a_pproach_es."

What is Tamriel coming to, when perfectly unassuming, un_approaching_ Bosmer can't walk remotely close to an Argonian without automatically becoming _prey_? ...Why is everyone so mean to me?... sniffle...

Unsure of exactly how to respond to this... um... greeting, I smiled pleasantly (if forcedly) and edged past her, slipping into a convenient tavern. Ironically enough, I was to find out later that this was the Council Club, notorious hangout of the local bigots. But I, "tourist" that I was, could not have known this at the time.

The first face I saw upon entering was that of a rather funky-chicken-looking Dunmer with a red mohawk thing. Kinda weird. But I tried to engage him in conversation, thinking perhaps he could tell me where to find Caius Cosades.

"Ask around at the South Wall," he spat, as if he were trying to get something vile off his tongue. "They'll tell you where to find the likes of _him_. Obviously an outlander like yourself would be too..." he searched for a choice insult, "_backwards_ to know something as simple as that."

Oh thank you. I suppose "backwards" is, after all, a choice insult... 'specially for a dim foreigner like me...

Anyway, ignoring his overtone of unabashed chauvinism, I thought the elf seemed a bit... edgy... like he had something he was trying to hide. Rather odd. I can't quite figure what it could've been...

Well needless to say, my first impression of Balmora's Council Club was one of -- ehm -- _disappointment_. But I was grateful for the information, regardless of how evilly it was given, so I moved on.

Unfortunately, I had quite a time of it finding the South Wall Cornerclub. Now I'm sure it should have occurred to me early on that, as the South Wall Cornerclub, it would be located on the South Wall... but, um, well... it _didn't_ occur to me. So I spent a good part of the day looking for the cornerclub, meanwhile discovering that Balmora, in addition to being pree-ty, is rather large. Fairly enormous, actually.

To make an already long story a bit shorter than it could be, I ended up finding Caius's house before I could locate the cornerclub. After getting lost several times in Balmora's confusing web of staircases and corridors, I considered myself rather fortunate to stumble so blindly on the very person I'd been looking for.

This very person I'd been looking for proved to be a shirtless old sugar addict who appeared to have no clue as to my arrival (which I thought was supposed to be a matter of Imperial business and therefore was considered important)... but I was pleased to finally reach him.

Turns out he was very friendly -- compared to my other new acquaintances on Vvardenfell, at any rate. Gave me a nice bit of money after I swore allegiance to the Emperor (...whatever...) and basically told me I could do anything I wanted for the time being, provided I come back eventually for duties.

I took my leave and headed down the stairs just outside his house. And there, down the river -- could it be? Yes; I had found the cornerclub at last. Though admittedly it seemed somewhat pointless now that I'd found Caius, I did want to see why my good Dunmer friend from the Council Club found the place so repulsive... so I went in.

Seems there _is_ some back story to the Dunmer's hatred. The South Wall is the local Thieves Guild, as I learned from the Khajiit Habasi who is the ranking thief in Balmora. The Guild is at war with the Cammona Tong, Morrowind's traditional criminal syndicate. The Cammona Tong is especially known for its rudeness and intolerance of outlanders... sound familiar? The Council Club is their little headquarters here.

Ha. Well I joined the Guild for my occupation's sake... plus I doubt any of the _other_ (cough) crime rings here would accept me.

But it is late now, and I must rest. I've rented a room here at the cornerclub, which should suit my needs just fine for the present. Work starts tomorrow, and I want to be ready.

Just hope Caius meant it when he said "eventually..." I've a feeling that I'm not going into the Emperor's service for a good long while.

* * *

A/N: Two updates in two days... well I do feel on top of things. Muhaha. 

-- Anoriel


	4. 19 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

19 Last Seed (Day 4) -- 4:37 PM

I had to go fetch a few diamonds today... one day into my job here, and business is already looking lucrative. Muhaha. I think I've found my calling. Perhaps Annoying Breton Old Fart back at Seyda Neen was right after all; I _am_ a Thief. Maybe I'll go back and nick that lovely limeware platter of his someday. Well he rather put me up to it, didn't he?

Anyway, business today afforded me a nice bit of pocket money, so I decided the time was at last right to seek out some better pockets to put it in. I'd discovered a clothier's next to the Evil Altmer's shop I was supposed to be robbing. I headed over there once I'd pawned off a couple diamonds.

Well. It turns out my clothes aren't the only ones that suck. I perused glumly through the Breton lady's selection of clothes, which somehow managed to be ugly and expensive at the same time, and I eventually settled on a common robe.

At least it's clean. But nobody takes baths here anyway. I asked someone here about it and got the reply, "Oh, but don't you _know_? Bathing would be _dreadfully inconvenient_ and _completely_ _ruin_ your role playing experience."

Uh. At this point I decided it would be wise to back away slowly.

But seriously... inconvenient or not, bathing would do these smelly Vvardenfell types a lot of good. I mean _really_, that nasty Dunmer in the club yesterday had his hair all mohawked out and I know for a fact that these people don't use hair gel. That is just disgusting. And they wonder why they're plagued by the blight.

Hold on a moment. I'm going to run over and check if Evil Altmer Alchemist Lady has any sload soap for sale.

Later -- 5:12 PM

She does, and it's horribly expensive. Maybe if soap weren't so unaffordable, these people would see the benefits of proper hygeine.

Or maybe I should start hanging out with rich people. Haha.

Well I snagged a bar for myself. I don't care about its inconvenience or my "role playing experience" or the fact that soap is 100 gold a pop, I'M TAKING A BATH, DAMMIT.

Freaky prudish non-outlander people don't know what's good for them. Maybe I will turn alchemist and invent deodorant or something.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know this is considerably shorter than Tinuviel's last entries, but I'm submitting two at once so it should be all right. You can't expect her to write novels every day, after all...


	5. 20 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

20 Last Seed (Day 5) -- 3:21 PM

Habasi bothers me. She wants me to go spelunking into that dirty Cammona Tong hellhole the Council Club, just to get some stupid key to some stupid manor off some stupid Dunmer who works for some stupid rich dude. And I'm like, "Haha. No frikking way."

But I do it anyway.

I drag my hot Bosmer self across the Odai to the club, passing my favorite Greasy Mohawk Elf on the way in. Down the stairs and into the depths I go. I spot my target. He is the stuck-up looking Dunmer in dress clothes.

Oh wait; they _all_ look like that.

But in all seriousness, I did see the guy. My first thought was to pick his pocket for the key, but at this point I realized there were about ten other stuffed-shirt Dunmer in the room, and every one of them was already staring at me and saying to themselves, "Wuthafrick is this upstart Bosmer wench doing in our gentlemen's club? Ah well, I daresay we'll have to make sure she doesn't start foaming at the mouth; she is an _outlander_, after all."

_Bastards_, I thought sullenly. I decided there was nothing for it but to talk to my target. So unThieflike. I ended up lining _his_ pockets with about 400 gold worth of bribe money before he'd tell me anything. And it took another hundred to get him to give me the key.

I guess even loyal outlander-hating members of the Cammona Tong can be bought. Corruption makes me smile inside.

Well I visited the manor in question later to go check out the lock my key would be opening. And all I can think of now is the utter pointlessness of my little key excursion. Why in hell does Habasi want to break into this dump? I mean, it seems like a lot of trouble to go to just for shelves upon shelves of peach glass and Mazte.

But that's just my opinion. Habasi, after all, isn't going to much trouble for her peach glass; no, that's _my_ job.

Well. I gave her the key, so my work there is done. I think. I'm going to take the rest of the day off, go party on the town, whatever it is people do for fun in this wretched place. Heaven knows I deserve it.


	6. 21 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

21 Last Seed (Day 6) -- 9:13 PM

Today was rather a fiasco. This morning Habasi gave me my first field job: go down to Hla Oad, meet some random Khajiit, and... _persuade_ him to chuck some priceless artifacts at me. She called them "Dweee-mer" or something. Dunno what the hell that means... But anyway, the job sounded simple enough, what with my winning personality and all that.

So I took a romp down the river to Hla Oad, giddy to be rising from city Thief to vagrant, wandering Thief. Then it started raining, which sucked majorly.

I met some dudes on the side of the road. Decided to chill with them for a bit. I figured they had to be special, seeing as how they had a lovely little fire going in the middle of a downpour.

"So what is it that you do?" I asked them after chatting them up a bit.

"Oh, we're miners," the Redguard replied.

"Really?" I said. "Do you mine gold, then?"

"Hell, no," said the Imperial. "Nobody _mines_ gold, silly, what could ever have given you that idea?"

Ummm... "So what do you mine?" I asked.

"Eggs," said the Redguard promptly.

This confused me a bit. "Eggs?" I repeated, faintly incredulous. "Eggs with, like, yolks and stuff?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the Imperial.

Erm, righto then. Eggs, but not gold. Why is it that everything on Vvardenfell seems backwards?

I finished up my conversation with the two miners. Now thoroughly soaked, I wanted to get to Hla Oad as quickly as possible.

After about twenty minutes of brisk walking, I heard this really random battle music start to play. Utterly bewildered, I stopped and glanced around. Suddenly this ugly green spiky thing ran at me and took a fair chunk out of my left arm.

"What the -- " I started to say, but then it paffed me in the chin.

What was I supposed to do? I had nothing but that pitiful iron dagger that I nabbed back in Seyda Neen, and what was that going to do against this Uber Green Monster of Slimy Expectoration? Why, oh why hadn't I bought a better weapon?

Well I drew the dagger and slashed the thing in what I figured to be its throat, thinking that would kill it -- or at least drive it off. It didn't. All I got for my trouble was a spray of blood in my face. The thing did cringe for all of two seconds, but then it was up again and nasty as ever, seemingly unperturbed by the rather gaping hole in its windpipe.

I slashed at it again -- and missed. What the hell? It was right in front of me and I slashed right at it! I didn't -- I _couldn't have_ missed. Why wouldn't the stupid thing die?

I stabbed at a leg. The dagger barely grazed the thing's thigh, but I got another faceful of blood and the thing keeled over. Dead.

Yeah. So it doesn't die when I slice its throat open, _only_ when I scratch its leg. Right.

I moved on, noting with limited interest that the battle music had stopped.

Judging by my travel time rather than the position of the currently clouded-over sun, I must have reached Hla Oad at around noon. It was a disheartening prospect, but I suppose I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Dunno what I was expecting -- walls, perhaps? Buildings that weren't shacks? On the whole, Hla Oad reminded me of Seyda Neen, only without the lighthouse and the Fairy Tale Castle and the purple skirt guard men. And it has an even more unpronounceable name. "Huh-lah oh-d." Rolls right off the tongue, that does.

Well anyway, even a facsimile of civilization was absolutely lovely after my little punkish-green-thing encounter. I asked some "Huh-lah-loo" guard where I could find Fat-Leg's Dropoff (a rather comical name, I must say). Turns out I was standing right next to it, as the guard was kind enough to tell me before having a good snicker about it.

Oh, ha ha. The outlander doesn't know everything there is to know about Vvardenfell. Imagine that.

Idiot. I could have punched him right then. But I wisely elected to go into the shack on my right instead.

Khajiit Artifact Hoarder wasn't hard to find. Bumped right into him. But he wouldn't tell me crap about the artifacts, not even when I bribed him senseless and said "Dweee-mer" in an obnoxious high-pitched voice to see if that would jog his memory. So I decided to have a poke around, thinking maybe I'd find the stuff on my own.

It wasn't long before I found a likely-looking trapdoor, which I climbed through without hesitation. I entered a large subterranean cavern full of evil Dunmer who hated me for no reason.

Well, duh. They hate me 'cos I'm an outlander. Excuse me while I roll my eyes.

Anyway, there weren't any artifacts down there, though there was a lady selling some decent lockpicks and probes. I bought a couple of those and went back up the trapdoor.

Khajiit Man still wasn't talking, so I went all "Screw you" on him and started picking the nearest locked chest. Didn't seem like it would do much good to sneak around at this point, seeing as how he kind of already knew I was there.

He went after me with his claws, and the Redguard in the corner started firing spells at me, so it was fortunate the chest opened rather quickly. Sure enough, there were the artifacts. I snatched them and slipped out the door. The Khajiit / Redguard fighting duo must not have been too concerned about the artifacts, 'cos they didn't follow me out.

Somehow, however, they'd managed to report the theft without ever leaving the shack, which was surprising. I mean, if my calculations are correct, telephones aren't due around for another, say, two million years.

So after the first person I met outside was all, "Get your butt out of my way, outlaw," I decided it was time to high-tail it back to Balmora. But just as I was passing the Dropoff, that Hlaalu guard came sidling up to me.

Resigned to getting arrested, I thought perhaps the justice system would go easier on me if I confessed straight out. So I started dumping all the artifacts on the ground in front of me, forming a rather large pile.

I smiled at the guard. "Well hello there," I said. "I'm Tinuviel, and I'm a --"

"Outlaw," he said, cutting me off. "Where are the stolen goods?"

"Well," I replied, "they're right there, on the ground. I stole those Dweee-mer bits, you see."

"No you didn't," he said authoritatively.

"Yes, I did," I said, getting kind of annoyed.

"Nuh-uh," he retorted. "If you stole them, then how come they aren't in your inventory?" He waited for me to answer. As I remained silent, he went on. "I'm going to have to ask you to empty your pockets."

I sighed. I supposed this was more Vvardenfell strangeness at work. I turned out my pockets. He confiscated a lot of stuff, the most important of which being my dagger, which I've already said was my only weapon. He also demanded a fee of 160 septims to pay off my bounty. Yeah, right. Pay off my bounty, my arse. Cushion a certain guard's paycheck, more like...

But anyway, I forked over the dough and he let me leave. As soon as his back was turned, I grabbed back the artifacts and made a run for it back to Balmora. It was through sheer luck I didn't meet any more green spiky taking-chunks-out-of-my-arm things, or I would have probably died.

It was getting dark as I entered the city, so I went back to the Cornerclub, deciding to wait until morning to get my wounds healed. Habasi was grateful, I suppose, for the artifacts. Gave me a nice bit of compensation and praise and all that, but then it was off to bed for me.

And on that note I close, wondering what crazy assignment she'll have for me tomorrow.


	7. 22 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

22 Last Seed (Day 7) -- 7:20 PM

Er. I woke up this morning to find my arm was completely healed. I mean, _completely_ healed. Not a sign of the missing pound of flesh or anything.

Whatever. I shrugged and went down for breakfast. Just toast today; I'm having some doubts about eggs lately. Finishing breakfast, I reported to Habasi to see what glorious errand I was to run this fine morning.

She told me to go fetch -- get this -- a bottle of _vintage brandy_ from some dead fart's Balmora manor. Ralen Hlaalo, he was called. I say, these Vvardenfell people must have a thing for saying "hla." Not sure why; it sounds like something you say when you have gobs of bile stuck in the back of your throat. Something like a precursor to spitting on the floor, you know?

Yes. Well. Anyway. I crossed the river and found the manor. Getting in was a bit tricky; it was too risky to pick the lock on the ground floor what with all the guards and nosy citizens milling around. So I had to climb to the roof of the manor next door, jump onto Hlaalo's balcony, and unlock the door up there instead. Ooh, in-con-_spic_-u-ous. Muhaha, right.

Once inside, I found the brandy reposing tranquilly in a dresser, practically the only piece of furniture not hacked violently to pieces and strewn around on the floor. It was rather cute, really. I supposed at the time that Hlaalo went kind of insane before he died, tried to do some delirious half-baked redesign or something. You never know, these bureaucrats...

Brandy now safely in my possession, I figured I'd see if I could salvage anything else from the apparently deserted manor -- I mean, as long as I was here and a Thief and everything. Found some more ugly clothes. What is it with these people and poofy overembellished shirts? Gaah, I'll sell the expensive rags as soon as I get the chance. So yeah, I got some clothes. And that, that was about it. Some manor.

I stumbled into a little garret off the second floor. Discovered a very crazy Dunmer lady inside, who was like, "Oh-em-gee! Some punk Dunmer fool with a red mohawk MURDERED SER HLAALO! YOU HAVE TO LIKE DO SOMETHING! Oh by the way, how ever _did_ you get in here?"

I left the room and shut the door hastily. Heh heh.

Got a nasty surprise on the first floor. There, sprawled on the vast shag rug, was the corpse of Ralen Hlaalo himself. Ick. I went out the front door, thoroughly nauseated.

It wasn't until after I'd delivered the brandy to Habasi that I realized something. That woman back at the manor said something about a "punk Dunmer fool with a red mohawk." Hmm...

...A red _greasy_ mohawk, perchance?

Smiling rather evilly to myself, I traipsed back across the river to the Council Club. There was my old friend, looking bright and chipper as ever.

"Wassup," I said.

He grumbled something I couldn't hear.

"So, uh, kill anyone special lately?"

He grumbled something I couldn't hear.

"You know, you've got blood under your fingernails."

He balled his fists, then grumbled something I couldn't hear.

"That's kinda gross, you know what I mean?"

He grumbled something I couldn't hear.

At this point, I gave up and left. He looked about ready to kill me, and seeing as how I don't have a weapon... (ahem... _note to self_...)

Maybe I'll investigate all this further at a later, _safer_ date. And anyway, Habasi's already given me tomorrow's assignment -- I have to go rescue some nitwit named New-Shoes from the prison at Pelagiad. This job's going to involve more of that Dweee-mer rubbish... so it should prove interesting, I s'pose.

Till tomorrow, then.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to you all for your reviews; I must say, you have excellent taste in literature... ;D 

--Anoriel


	8. 23 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

23 Last Seed (Day 8) -- 8:31 PM

First order of business today was (obviously) gettin' me a new weapon. Took all my savings down to the commercial bit of Balmora and bought myself a silver shortsword and some cheap darts. I want to train up my aim but I don't much fancy slinging a bow around all the time. Besides, darts look sexier. Teehee.

Figured I could use some armor too, so I bought some stuff advertised as "chitin." I asked the Bosmer at the counter what chitin was. He told me it was laminated insect exoskeleton, which in plain Aldmeris means "the crunchy stuff you get off dead silt striders." That kind of grossed me out, but it was the best I could afford, so I bought a few pieces.

I left the city. Previously I thought I'd feel pretty well-equipped and capable at this point, with my sword and my darts and my clicky stuff off the bug I rode last week. I dunno though, I felt kind of... dorky.

I don't really know what I'm doing here. I mean, I know I'm a Thief and all that, but I wasn't a thief back in Valenwood. And I didn't strut around in bug bits, either, or carry swords, or go on wild goose chases for cat people who are all, "Ourr sugarr is yourrs, frriend."

No, I used to have a real job. I used to be... a rock star. Yep. I played a mean lute back in Haven, with my girls Aenie and Balwen on drums and bass lute. We were quite a group, us three...

Course then I got busted for sugar possession and shipped off to Cyrodiil... It wasn't even that _much_ sugar and it wasn't mine anyway; Balwen had a bit of a habit and accidentally left a bowl of the stuff in my apartment. And when the guards came, well, I couldn't very well rat out one of my best mates, could I?

Tabloids over there absolutely wet themselves over the story. Vvardenfell, however, is pretty isolated and extremely weird, so the people here have apparently never heard of me. Actually that's probably a good thing. They hate me as it is, and that's just 'cos of my outlander status. I wouldn't really care to be labelled a moon sugar junkie on top of that. I mean, look at Caius, and then look at his house. Yeah.

Aenie and Balwen are really the only two people I much miss. I don't have any family to speak of, my ex-boyfriends were pretty much all losers, and my lawyer, I hate to say it, was a dick. Thought he knew everything. Cost me a crapload of money, too, not that that got me anywhere.

But that was _home_. Nobody _hated_ me over there. And everything was so much less confusing.

Well enough about my life story; that's all over now and I couldn't go back to it if I tried.

I set off for Pelagiad. Coming to Balmora on the silt strider, I didn't really get to check out much of the scenery, and now that I was walking I found there really wasn't that much scenery to check out. Lots of red dirt at first, then an ugly gray trench. So I suppose that was that Foyada Mamaea everyone keeps talking about. Well I stopped and glanced around the place a bit; it didn't look _that_ important.

Then the random battle music started to play again as I got attacked by a giant rat, of all things. Killed that in about two seconds, then the music stopped. My question is, what is a giant rat doing in the middle of this barren wasteland? It's an ugly gray _trench_, for gawd's sake. I think whoever keeps playing that music has it in for me. Creepy thought.

The trench, I'll grant you, is very long. And dull. There isn't really a whole lot to say about it, so I'll move on.

I met a very cute scrib at the end of the trench. He went, "Ree ree," and I'm like "Hello-o, little guy, don't end up as someone's jerky, now." He gave me another, "Ree ree," before skittling off somewhere else.

The landscape became mercifully greener as I entered the very lush Ascadian Isles Region -- at least that's what the silt strider lady told me it's called. Wonder what they call the bit with the Foyada and everything. The Boring Gray Dirt Region? Well, the name fits...

Met a very sottish lovesick Breton lady on the side of the road. Short brunette girl, about my age, name of Maurrie. Seems she was robbed by some Nelos character and then ended up falling in love with him. Poor girl. I suppose we criminals are rather dashing, after all.

Well the Dunmer lover in question happened to be staying at Pelagiad, so I agreed to take her glove to him. Yeah, she sent a _glove_ as a token of affection. Well then again, the guy did take all of her jewels, so er, yeah. And this is Vvardenfell, Isle of the Freaks, after all.

Pelagiad was just a bit further down the road. Lovely place, really, with a fort and some Fairy-Tale-Castle-style cottages scattered around. But I wasn't here to admire the atmosphere. I was here... on business.

Wow, that sounded rather sinister, didn't it? Anyway...

Now. Habasi's instructions had been pretty convoluted, but I got the idea I was supposed to search some dude's shop for Dweee-mer crap and then use it to blackmail a guard at the fort into setting New-Shoes free. Something like that. This was going to work because, guess what, it's illegal to trade Dweee-mer stuff. I haven't the foggiest why. But there it is.

I couldn't for the life of me remember the shopowner's name, so I walked into the first store-ish building I saw. I guess it was the right one, as I found a rather beat-up-looking battery thing in a locked chest upstairs.

Ok, I know I've already established and reestablished the fact that Vvardenfell people are weird... but come on, these people trade in _dead batteries_. Illegally, too. I don't care if it's Dweee-mer, it's _dead_, for Mara's sake. Dead, pointless, and mother-frikkin' heavy. Gawd.

I half thought it was going to be quite a job getting the cumbersome thing downstairs without attracting the attention of the purple skirt guard man, but it wasn't. Not much of a surprise, really. Guards are starting to strike me as pretty stupid.

So I lugged it up to the fort. Not fun in the least, but hey, what can a girl do?

I recalled the supposed blackmailee's name as Orcish and female... something-gra-something-or-other. Fortunately, I only saw one female Orc in the fort. I found her a bit dim; she practically waltzed her way into my trap. In the end she had to agree to free New-Shoes, at which point I left. Clumsy bastard can find his own way out.

Time to find good ol' Nelos Onmar. I found him hanging out at the Halfway Tavern. Can't say I blame Maurrie for falling all over him; that Nelos is one hawt elf. So I gave him her glove, and he gave me a soppy little note to take back to her. Joy.

Well at any rate it was time for me to be going, so I left and headed back to Balmora. I met another green spiky death monster on the way, which was (again) accompanied by battle music. I'd learned earlier in Pelagiad that the green things are nix hounds... so _that's_ what nix hounds look like...ugh, feeling stupid now. Well it was no match for my pretty silver shortsword of doom. Muhaha. That's what I think of _you_, evil omnipresent battle music conductor!

I gave Maurrie her note. She got all ecstatic but didn't, like, _pay_ me or anything.

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot again -- she was robbed. Oh well.

I bid her farewell and ambled back up the Foyada, which I later turned out of just as the sky began to darken. I was in Balmora five minutes later. Reported to Habasi and called it a day.

So, er, yeah. That's it for now.

Oh. And I just realized. I've been in this silly place an entire week. Random thought.

* * *

A/N: Err, yeah. Another chappie. I've got the next one all written down in longhand, so I'll post it soon as I can type it up.

--Anoriel


	9. 24 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

24 Last Seed (Day 9) -- 2:15 PM

No! I don't want to leave Balmora! Just when I'm starting to get used to this city, Habasi tells me she has no more jobs for me.

Right, plus today's job was nothing short of... cake, actually. Had to find a particularly lockpick-prone Altmer; _that_ took about an hour, tops.

But now I have to pack for Ald-ruhn! Well, I mean I _could_ go to Sadrith Mora, but it's supposed to be full of people called Telvanni, who I've heard are real bastards.

You know, come to think, I don't really know squat about this island. I mean, sure the people here are... odd, but, well, what's Telvanni, for instance? And who are these abolitionists people keep talking about? Do the Dunmer own slaves or something? I suppose the main disadvantage to being an outlander is that you don't know anything and no one here cares to answer your questions.

Well, actually... no, never mind.

But _maybe_... oh whatever.

Later -- 3:41 PM

I've just been to talk to Caius. No, not about doing crap for him, just to ask a few questions.

Well. Telvanni, as it turns out, is the name of a Dunmer Great House, as are something called Redoran as well as dear old Hlaalu. Telvanni are ancient wizard dudes who, like, sleep in formaldehyde or something. They do rather sound like bastards, but I haven't met one or I'd know for sure.

Redoran is uber-religious and war obsessed. Their main crib is Ald-ruhn, so I better get used to the idea of hanging with crazy evangelical Tribunal-jihad types. Scariness.

And Hlaalu is corrupt and vile and scheming and nasty and filthy and evil and disgusting and treacherous and tolerant of outlanders. What a surprise. Actually, I'm pretty vile and scheming myself, so perhaps Hlaalu doesn't sound too bad. Plus they built Balmora, and, of course, Balmora is pree-ty.

And yes, the Dunmer do own slaves. Sigh. They do rather seem the type, I suppose.

Right, well I asked Caius a few more questions, but I've got a silt-strider redeye to pack for so I'll address those later. Until then.

* * *

A/N: Yes, yes, 'tis very short, but the last entry was pretty long, right? Eeuhr, yeah. (no idea what brought that"eeuhr" on, but whatever...)

Well again, I thankst thee for thy reviews, for they art much appreciated. Another entry is soon to some, rest assured.

--Anoriel


	10. 25 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

25 Last Seed (Day 10) -- 11:00 PM

Ald-ruhn is like totally spacey. The houses here look like funky poddish things with hoods or something. And the rich people live in a giant dead crab, which is pretty random in my opinion, especially seeing as how all the giant crabs _I_ know (cough) like to chill by the beach, and Ald-ruhn is rather... inland. And gray. And dusty.

Plus even the poor people here are complete snobs. I passed by this random barefoot Dunmer lady and she was like, "Whatever it is you're looking for, I'm sure _I_ don't know how to find it." Well, I was pretty sure she _did_ know how to find the Rat in the Pot clubby thing -- which is what I was looking for -- so I asked her where it was. She was kind enough to direct me to it. Awful nice of her.

I kinda miss Balmora.

And this chap I'm working for, Aengoth... he reminds me a bit of my last boyfriend. Same fruitcake-shaped head and all that. Definitely not a good sign.

He also seems rather irritatingly flippant. His first job for me today was to go pick up some knife thingo from the Ald-ruhn Guild of Mages, which he _told_ me was deserted for the day.

Well it wasn't. Some Breton idiot had decided not to go to Disneyland or wherever with the rest of the guild and instead was occupying himself by skulking around in the foyer. As soon as I walked in the door he was all, "Ooh, you must be a thief! Die, thief!" Oh foo you. Just 'cos I'm sneaking in while everybody's away, it doesn't make me a thief.

Well never mind... I suppose it kinda _does_, at that...

I didn't want to hurt the guy, I swear... But he was firing spells at me, and I took out my dart kit, and he just, um, died. I felt really, really bad.

So I took all his crap and buried his body in the floor. Woohoo!

Right. The knife was an easy steal after that, and I also got to restock my soap supply for free. But Imperial guilds are notoriously cheap, and I didn't find much else.

So yeah, like I said, this Aengoth dude is rather flippant. I got back after getting my bum nicely toasted by that fool Breton, and Aengoth was like, "Yay! You got the tanto! Oh, there was a mage there? And you almost died? That's nice. Here's some money."

He _definitely_ reminds me of my last boyfriend.

Then he gave me this other crazy mission, since the first one was done in like two hours and I felt like working some more. And what do you know, I had to go swipe some prized Redoran helmet right from under its owner's nose. Nope, Aengoth, that won't be hard at all. Piece of goddamn cake.

I trotted over to the Manor District. You know, considering all the rich people who live there, you'd think the Redorans would have something nicer that rickety haphazard wooden ramps connecting all the manors. You'd think. But then you'd wrong. Ooh.

It took me about ten minutes to find Arobar Manor, where the helmet thing was supposed to be. This all was mainly because the dumb guards kept getting in my way, and also 'cos that scaffolding is frikking skinny. Plus it dead-ends in random places. Stupid giant dead crab thing.

Ok, so I got there and I found this Miner fellow's bedroom, which seemed the logical place for his helmet to be. I hesitated for a moment outside the door, thinking of what I was going to say to the guy. "Hi, my name's Tinuviel, I'm just, um, checking out your bedroom. Gee, what a lovely... helmet... you have here. Hey, look over there, a rabid kagouti!"

This was going to be interesting. I rolled my eyes and opened the door.

I fear I may have been interrupting something. He was in there with some chick. No idea what she was, um, doing in there, but yeah.

They kinda glared at me, which was fine because at the moment I decided to run away and flip on my chameleon spell. Useful trick I picked up in Balmora. You say the magic words and turn a bit hazy, and suddenly people think you aren't there! It's totally awesome.

Yeah. So I went back in there and grabbed the helmet right off the dresser. And my, is it ever a piece of work. It looks like a paper bag with like ruffles or something. But then, since when did these people know anything about fashion?

I dropped the helmet off at Aengoth's hangout and collected my fee before going on my way. I found a room for rent at the Ald Skar Inn, so I guess this is where I'm sleeping for the duration of my Ald-ruhn trip.

Hopefully, said Ald-ruhn trip will not last long. This place sucks.

A lot. Fwah.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. Another chappie. Sorry it took rather a long time... Believe me, I'd much rather be writing this than reading The Scarlet Letter for English, but priorities aren't always pretty things. 

Thank you all for your reviews!

--Anoriel


	11. 26 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

26 Last Seed (Day 11) -- 4:24 PM

Right. So, as if stealing this Arobar guy's prized paper bag ruffly helmet thing isn't mean enough, today I had to pilfer some incriminating book about Boethiah from his daughter's bedroom. Someone's got it in for the Arobars, methinks.

So yeah, his daughter's name rather escapes me, but she seems to me as kind of the punkish rebel type who sits in the corner of her room and gets stoned to Boethiah's Pillow Book. Well that's the impression _I_ got, anyway -- not that I've got anything against her for her skooma collection. That would be a mite hypocritical...

The hardest thing about this job was unlocking the chest in her room, where the book was, and that was freakishly easy. Infinitely simpler than getting that helmet from her old dad. She even had screens set up for me to hide behind as I picked the lock! Silly teenagers.

Well Aengoth was pleased enough for the annoying little bugger he is... but I swear he's starting to leer at me. Ah well. Who can blame him? Hee hee.

Right now I'm on a silt strider to Mar Gaan, where my next job is. The trip isn't that long, so I should be done and back by day's end.

Ah, we're here. TTFN, I s'pose.

Later -- 9:55 PM

O-kay. This book Withershins is a rather interesting piece of work. Written by some recent escapee of the Vivec psycho ward, I expect. It is most disturbing.

That Boethiah book was pretty disturbing, too. So I've decided that Aengoth's "client -- " whoever the hell he is -- has it in for the Arobars _and_ a thing for oddish books. Hm.

Well I guess this all could be for multiple clients... but I must say the jobs are pretty similar for being concocted by different deranged minds...

Whatever.

Yeah. Getting Withershins was _way_ harder than the other book, but fortunately I had my chameleon spell flicked on, so it wasn't too tricky. The fact remains, however, that I opened a chest _and_ stole a book right in front of its (former) owner, so maybe if I gripe at Aengoth enough he'll give me a higher paycheck.

But he probably won't.

Later still -- 11:03 PM

Ha. He didn't. Stupid little idiotic non-jeweler fruitcake person. I'll probably kill him one of these days.

* * *

A/N: Urrgh, sorry I haven't posted in weeks, but my dear mum has banned me from the internet (I'm sneaking on right now). I'll update again when and as soon as I can. 

--Anoriel


	12. 27 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

27 Last Seed (Day 12) -- 8:08 PM

Holy crap, I cannot believe it's only been, like, three days, and I'm ready to leave this dusty, dusty place. No more pod huts, no more red sandstorms that make people run around outside shrieking at me to get inside, no more leery fruitcake ex-boyfriend types who send me off to steal frigging _books_ written by frigging _psychos_. Telvanni bastards, here I come. Woohoo!

Although I must say I'm starting to get rather tired of this whole errand-running business. Sometimes I just feel like I want to break free, ya know? Set out and explore uncharted lands (what little are left on this godforsaken island), excavate Daedric shrines, kill insane blight monsters and other nasty wee beasties to the Conductor's battle-tune-of-the-day...

But then I remember I'm lumping around in crap armor with cheap darts and a silver sword thing that's in need of some serious repair. Plus I'm level -- what -- like, two? Yeah, desk job for me, thanks.

Aengoth's first (and second-to-last) job for me this lovely day was to go fetch him some scrap metal, 'cos evidently the Guild had acquired some Dweee-mer robot or another and it had a few part missing. Never mind that nobody alive today ever built one of those Dweee-mer things, and that the chances of a Guild member being able to construct the missing parts out of random bits of junk metal are slim to none. Oh, and also never mind the fact that any moderately skilled mage/swordsman/archer/assassin could kill the dumb robot in about five seconds anyway. We need scrap metal!

Yeah, and what's more, Aengoth told me, the only place you can _find_ scrap metal is in Dweee-mer ruins. Meaning, naturally, that he expected _me _to go traipsing into some robot graveyard/land of misfit toys and grab maybe sixty pounds of metal without getting smashed by an angry robot. Great.

Well I was like, "Screw that," because, seriously, I was looking for _metal_. You don't have to go to a frigging Dweee-mer ruin to get _metal_.

So I walked to the neared alchemy shop selling the stuff and I _bought_ the scrap metal. Ooh. I is so thmart.

Aengoth was gawping at me a fair bit when I slid back into the Rat in the Pot a mere twenty minutes later, metal in inventory.

"And so you've just been to a Dweee-mer ruin and back, right?" he said.

"Oh yeah," I replied, nonchalantly inspecting my fingernails. They need some mani-pedi people around here, seriously. "Yeah, it was really no sweat. Almost got my head bashed in a couple times, though -- you know how it is, eh?"

I swear his eyes bugged two inches out of his head. "_You_ tackled a _Steam Centurion_?" he asked, as if he didn't believe I could (in which case, he would be right).

I hadn't a clue what a Steam Centurion was supposed to be, but I assumed it was probably the head-bashing type of robot or Aengoth wouldn't have brought it up. "Well of course I did!" I retorted in my most offended tone. "Maybe _you_ couldn't do it, but, well... here's your scrap metal," I said, handing over the goods.

"Yes, yes," Aengoth said absently, still in a state of shock. "And here's some money for your troubles."

Well the gold he gave me covered the, um, expenses nicely, so I was happy. But true to form, I had time for a second job. And hey, I thought, why the hell not? It'll just get me out of here faster.

So after getting paid, I was like, "So yeah, Aengoth, any more jobs for me today?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he said. "Somewhere in blahblahblah blahblah there's this Bosmer named blahblahblah who has these four Darts of Judgment lying on her bed. They were crafted in Valenwood -- which, in case your didn't know, is my home province." Well no crap, Captain Obvious. Gosh golly gee, what do you know? Valenwood's _my_ home province, too! And we're both Bosmer! Funny how these things work, isn't it?

Anyway. Yeah, the darts were a really easy steal, I didn't even have to go out of town to get them. Though I _did_ have to go back in the giant crab thingo, which was thoroughly annoying. But that didn't stop me from being back within the hour, with the darts. (I lurrve my chameleon spell!)

But here was something new -- Aengoth gave me the option of keeping the darts, or selling them to the Guild for 250 apiece. Well I'm a Bosmer dart lady, so I kept them. They are very light and sharp. I think I'll save them for later -- I'd probably waste them on cliff racers or something at this point.

Well that turned out to be all the jobs my dear friend Aengoth had for me, so... I'm off. Tomorrow I'm taking the silt strider up to Khuul, where I'll catch a boat around the northern coast to Sadrith Mora. Life on the road, baby, that's what it's all about.

But at some point I'm definitely coming back to Balmora. Definitely.

Ald-ruhn, I'm not so sure about.

But definitely Balmora.

* * *

A/N: Hope this chappie was quick enough... Christmas rocks my socks 'cos I'm allowed on the internet... 

Right, I hardly ever do these, but here are some review response thingies:

Sheogorath -- I kinda figured the whole pervy bit about Boethiah's Pillow Book... If I remember correctly, you have to steal it so Aengoth's client can blackmail what's-her-face that you steal it from. Nothing illegal about owning the thing, of course. And yes, your story is hilarious.

Tam Tikitigo -- I heart my SAT words... muhaha.

Yeah. So. That's all, I think.

-- Anoriel


	13. 28 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

28 Last Seed (Day 13) -- 10:19 PM

Right. I don't like it here.

5 Quick-ish Reasons Why I Don't Like It Here:

1) They're worse than Seyda Neen for customs. First thing I had to do upon getting here was get this idiot in a robe to sell me a piece of paper so I could buy crap from the local merchants, 'cos I'm an outlander and I'm not Telvanni and nobody trusts me. 'Cos I mean, if I _hadn't_ bought this ticket thingo, I would obviously automatically try to do something devious, like sell Telvanni potion-making secrets to the Redorans or something. And this ticket will stop me from doing that. Right.

2) Their houses. Suck. Yeah sure, they look pretty cool when you step off the boat, all funky and fungus-y and alive and all that. Ok, well now try going inside one. If you don't fall down a random hole and die, you'll probably end up stuck behind some fat-assed wizard guy who's blocking up one of the tunnels. Or maybe you'll find you can't get to where you're trying to go, because your destination happens to be at the top of said random hole, and you don't have a levitate spell, and potions are ridiculously overpriced, even if you have that ticket you bought from that robed idiot back at the inn. Yeah. The houses suck, period.

3) Everybody -- _everybody_ -- wears a robe. It's disgusting. I'm ditching mine as soon as I can. The only people who don't wear robes are a few street vendors and the guards. But that's ok; the guards have hideous armor to make up for the loss.

4) Haha, and here I was thinking everybody _else_ was racist. In Balmora there were a few rabid Camonna Tong members, but mostly everybody was sane. In Ald-ruhn everyone was brainwashed by the Tribunal to be Dunmer-religious-supremacist types, so they had kind of an excuse. But here in Sadrith Mora, _no one's _got an excuse, and _no one_ is sane. They all have this attitude like, "Oh, we're rebels and magicians and we know how to preserve ourselves with Botox so we're better than u and we hate u all and u can eat my green glow-in-the-dark poo for all I care. h4x0r 70 7h3 m4x0r!1!" Like Imperials, except with brains and pointy ears. Oh, and also they hate Imperials. Heh.

5) Their bug musk stuff reeks. Ick.

Well anyway, I suppose Sadrith Mora isn't really so bad. It's just that I'm in a rather foul mood after learning that I could have paid the Mage's Guild to teleport me here instead of having to take a twelve-hour journey by boat and silt strider. I checked into the Gateway Inn (hangout of the Robed Idiot) about an hour ago, and now I have this killer headache that I can't get rid of.

I checked a copy of the Alchemist's Formulary to see if it had any headache remedies. Here's what it says: "Common headaches are often attributed to natural poisons found inside the body which are activated by a minor blight disease caused by infected spores; therefore, for maximum relief, imbibe a mixture of one (1) medium-sized ghoul heart and one-tenth pound ash salts, infused with the same measure of meteor slime. Ash salts are relatively common and can be extracted from the corpses of deceased ash monsters. While the other ingredients are comparatively rare, this is a failsafe cure for any degree of headache and is well worth the cost."

Obviously, this didn't help very much. I tried looking for Advil in some Anis woman's alchemy shop, but she didn't have any. So I asked her if she had any of that dodgy headache remedy from the book, but she didn't stock that either. She did have a ghoul heart, but no ash salts or meteor slime. She said she had no idea where to find meteor slime. I doubt she'd even heard of it before. Damn stupid book.

I'd go get drunk somewhere, but I'd have a worse headache in the morning. And I need to work in the morning.

That reminds me, I'm practically rolling in wealth at this point. Aengoth paid me very well for the most part, usually like one k per job, which was very nice. When I exhaust all the errands this Big Helende character has for me, I might just have enough to buy a full suit of some better armor, and maybe even a proper sword instead of the crappy half-busted one I've got.

So all in all, life is pretty good right now, despite the headache and these lame Telvanni types. Thieving shall recommence on the morrow.

* * *

A/N: Took me long enough to update, eh? This isn't very long, but I hope it shall suffice until the next entry. I took a bit of liberty with The Alchemist's Formulary -- obviously, there's nothing on headaches in there, but I was having fun, you know? (The potion does work on poisons and blight disease, if you know where to find meteor slime. You can find it if you search for it in the construction set...)

So yeah.Oblivion comes out on the 20th and I'm depressed 'cos I can't get a copy for at least a month and it looks marvelous. Happy gaming, you all!

--anoriel


	14. 29 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

29 Last Seed (Day 14) -- 9:30 PM

I couldn't get out of my flipping room this morning -- some robish bloke was blocking up the door. Dunno what the hell he thought he was doing. Yelled at him; he ran off and didn't bother me after that. Good gods, I hate it here.

Well I kicked off the work day by searching around for Dirty Muriel's Cornerclub, the local Thieves Guild HQ. That didn't take me very long to spot, especially seeing as how it's a) on the outskirts of town, b) the only Imperial fairy-tale-style building in a sea of purple toadstool-houses, and c) rather seedy-looking at that. This is sad. I thought a thieves' den wasn't supposed to stick out like a sore thumb, but hey, I've been wrong before.

And another thing -- why are all these Thieves Guild outposts in cornerclubs? What the hell _is_ a cornerclub, anyway? You'd think it was like a club in a corner somewhere, but so far Dirty Muriel's is the only one that sits in something that could remotely pass for a corner.

I'm getting really sick of this dumb guild. The people in it are all like, "OMG, we're so wily and thiev-ish and street-smart," and then they go and stick a headquarters in some no-brainer spot like Dirty Muriel's. Honestly, it's no wonder they're losing this war with the Cammona Tong. A pack of blind Nords could defeat them, they're that clueless.

I'm far enough up in the ranks to have heard about one Gentleman Jim Stacey, head of the Guild. One of these days I think I'm going to have a word with him about his management policies. This whole Guild needs a serious attitude change if it thinks it's going to save its Vvardenfell branch. Desperate measures must be taken, drastic steps must be made --

Oh for Mara's sake. I sound like I'm making a speech. And anyway, who's going to listen to me? I'm a bloody outlander with no family and not much of a past, stuck on an island on the edge of civilization populated by racist Dunmer who loathe my very presence.

Flipping bastards, I'll show them. I'll join one of their Great Houses and advance to the top -- what a brilliant joke that'll be. Then they'll all have to listen to me and call me "ma'am" and such crap, and I'll just be like, "Oh poo," and have the lot of them shipped to Akavir for a year, see how _they_ deal in some hostile country.

Well, that would be a bit overmuch. But I _will_ join one of their Houses, and I _will_ make myself important. If I can't be a mad lute player, I'll be a politician. I'm tired of getting stepped on; it's not something I'm particularly used to and I've been having to put up with it ever since the trial. Soon it'll be me doing the stepping on, and then I'll show these Dunmer idiots who's boss.

I just have to figure out which house to join. Probably Hlaalu, but I'll have to think about it before I'm sure.

Well anyway, now that I'm done plotting my route to world domination... business today went smoothly enough. Had to swipe alchemy notes off that Anis woman who had no Advil yesterday. They were upstairs in a desk. Ooh, tricky stuff, that.

On a side note, there was this really random skull sitting on the desk. No idea what the hell _that_ was there for, but whatever...

So yeah. My current boss is this Altmer lady called Big Helende, whose presence served to remind me just how irritating Altmer women can be. They all act like old rich snobs; it's almost ridiculous to see them walking around in sackcloth, like what's-her-name Eldafire back in Seyda Neen, or trying to be pro thief ladies like Big Helende. Poor dears, I suppose they can't all be sorcerers or whatever it is Altmer are really good at.

I only did one job today; I'm tired and anyway I wanted to go clothes-shopping. Unfortunately to that end, there aren't any clothes shops in Sadrith Mora, as I found out during my five-hour-long scouring of the town. They have like three magic shops, not including the street vendors, two big official tower-ish buildings (the Telvanni Council House and something called Tel Naga on a fat hill in the middle of everything), and even a frigging outdoor slave market (run by one of my own race, no less... shudder) -- but no clothier. The nearest one is in some other Telvanni city... evidently they've set up their stupid toadstools all up and down the east coast.

Oddly enough, there's no Tribunal temple here either. Not even a shrine. It's not that I mind or anything, it's just kinda weird. I never thought there'd be a Dunmer city with no temple to their wonderful smart shiny deities.

Or maybe I've just been in Ald-ruhn for too long. I remember, there was a temple in Balmora, but it was just kind of pushed off to the edge of town. Maybe the Hlaalu and Telvanni are rather similar in regards to religion, it's just the Telvanni who are more... radical. Hlaalu, after all, is probably the most politically-oriented House; they can't afford to completely ditch the Tribunal. Telvanni, being the rebellious stuck-up asshole House, doesn't have to give a crap about politics or religion, which is awfully convenient for them.

Of course then there's House Redoran, to whom politics and religion are like the same thing. If they had their way, I swear every Dunmer family in Morrowind would have to sacrifice their firstborn son to Anorexia or Apoplexia or whoever that Tribunal goddess woman is. Frigging psychos.

See why I have to join House Hlaalu? It's the only Great House that doesn't seriously piss me off. Still though, I'd like to do some more research/poking around before I'm completely sure. There's still a lot I don't know about this island, and I can't afford to join the wrong House -- once you join, you can't switch out.

I'm going to have a lot of fun wreaking havoc on these inbred Dunmer xenophobes. And who knows, maybe I'll even save them in the process.

Muhaha.

In other news, today marks the end of my second week here. I'm rather proud of myself, actually. Been here barely two weeks and already I'm an established Thief with a foot in the Imperial Blades and an eye on the Vvardenfell political scene. Now if I could just get my hands on a lute... life would be almost lovely right now.

Well anyway, I think I'll head over to Fara's. Two-week celebratory pick-me-up ought to do me some good. I'm not planning on working tomorrow; I'm going to catch a boat to Tel Mora and see about that clothier. Not like I can't afford it.

And even if I can't, what's the point of being a Thief if you can't steal anything you please? (wink wink)...

* * *

A/N: Yay, another chappie! Hm... nothing much to say... 'cept that i must... get... oblivion... one of these days... rargh!

--anoriel


	15. 30 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

30 Last Seed (Day 15) -- 10:13 PM

Sailed to Tel Mora and back today. Funky place, that. There aren't any dudes there! They're all chicks! Apparently, Telvanni boss lady Dratha despises all males, so she refuses to tolerate their presence in her city. Doesn't make much difference to me; the Vvardenfell girls are just as strange and evil as their guy counterparts, no matter how they're distributed. So though I was kinda weirded out by the idea of an all-girl city, I wasn't particularly... bothered by it, I suppose.

Yeah. So anyway, I managed somehow to find the clothier Elegnan in the tangled mass of fungus houses. I bought a new wardrobe -- pants, shoes, skirt, more shoes, shirt, belt, nicer robe, and shoes. Woot for shoe shopping. Someday I'll get some better armor to top it all off. Perhaps when I go back to Balmora...

Ah, that reminds me. I have some new weapons: a steel short to go with my silver and a steel dagger. I only bought them 'cos the silver short is -- well, it's rather a piece of crap. I won't be using it much anymore. (I'd have sold it, but of course you need silver weapons to kill ghosts and stuff. Not that I'll be killing any ghosts in the near future, but it never hurts to be prepared.)

Had a bit of an adventure on the way back to the boat. I tripped and fell off the edge of the -- sidewalk thing? -- and into the water. As if that weren't humiliating enough... gawdsakes, the fishies here are frigging _vicious_. Nearly got my finger chewed off by a particularly nasty one before I sliced off his spiny head. Wonder if they have dreughs here... heard about _them_ in Cyrodiil. I saw some dreugh armor while I was buying my chitin. I rather hope it's imported for my sake -- in case I have to go swim somewhere.

Other than that, nothing much happened today. It was nice to take a break from work for once and do some _shopping_. No drinking or maundering about in search of a lute... just good healthy materialism. Heh. Never fear, I'll go bother Big Helende some more tomorrow.


	16. 31 Last Seed

The Real Tinuviel

31 Last Seed (Day 16) -- 9:32 PM

Ugh. What is with this guild and its annoying tendency to give assignments that sound easier than they actually are? I had to... _pick up_ a grandmaster's retort today from one Berwen, a trader and fellow Bosmer. I suppose this would have been easy enough, but unfortunately...

Well, this isn't really the guild's fault, but it turns out Berwen knows who I am (like every Bosmer sister should... muhaha). Celebrity back in Valenwood, remember? It was pretty damn impossible to steal anything once she recognized me.

From there, things went from bad to worse. You'll see.

"Hi, welcome to -- OHMYGAWD, are you Tinuviel?"

"Um. Yes..."

"GASP! What are you doing here on this island? How'd the trial go? AAAH! I can't believe _the _Tinuviel is standing in my shop! Can I have your autograph?"

"Um, sure," I said, scribbling at the paper she shoved at me. I dunno why I never expected something like this to happen eventually. I must have just gotten lucky with Aengoth, I suppose. "Listen, uh, how much do you want for that retort?"

"The grandmaster's? Yes, it's very nice, isn't it? But I'm not selling anything right now. Not with Archie wandering around in the attic."

"Archie?"

"Oh, well, Archie, he's um -- maybe you should come up and see for yourself," she said rather uncomfortably. I followed her up the stairs.

The room at the top would have been spacious, but it appeared that Berwen had set up a makeshift pen out of crates and expatriate furniture. In the middle of the pen was, I guessed, Archie. Archie was a hulking, dirty sort of fellow with great swinging clubs for arms and a pair of brown pants that looked like they'd seen better days. He stared at us vacantly, then began clomping toward us like he was going to attack. Fortunate those crates were there, really.

"Archie's a corprus beast," said Berwen sadly, as Archie kicked at an empty crate in a vain attempt to unstick it from the floor. "No idea how he got in here, but somebody's going to have to, er, get rid of him before I sell anything again."

"Whossa corprus beast?"

"Well he's afflicted with the corprus disease, of course!" she laughed. "Oh, pardon me --" she sounded sincere -- "I've been here so long now, I forgot they don't have corprus in Valenwood. Or anywhere, really, besides Vvardenfell."

"So is corprus the reason for the..."

"The hulkiness? The vacant stare? The demented sense of aggression?"

"The gross pants?" I quipped.

"Yes, all of that," she said. "You can have a go at him if you want, sister, but I'd watch out. Those things are as nasty as they look." Archie swung his massive leaden-looking arms as if to confirm this.

Great. I go to swipe a retort, I end up duking it out with the Thing from the Deep. I love my job.

After Berwen left down the stairs, I plopped myself down on the floor and gave Archie a good hard stare in the eye. He drooled and made a rude sign with his hand. This wasn't going to be fun.

Sighing, I stood up and got out my dart kit. Ok Archie, let's see how you fare with a couple Darts of Judgment in your neck. Heh. Heh. I lobbed one at him; he swatted it away. Oh dear.

My dart landed in one corner of the pen, away from Archie. Well he looked like rather the slow type, so... I jumped in to see if I couldn't retrieve it.

Archie kinda went, "Hu-uh?" as I sailed past his ear. I landed and snatched up my dart, then drew my steel short and faced him. He'd only just started lumbering over. Oh well, I thought, here goes nothing.

I leaped up to clip him across the chest, then dashed sideways as he aimed a sizeable punch at my head. He missed; I slashed again, this time at his shoulder, but I didn't get out of his way in time. His next punch sent me sailing clear across the pen. I could hear my nose crunch nastily as it came in contact with his knuckles. Not the most pleasant sound in the world. Plus I banged up my arm pretty nicely on this urn thing I landed on, which was definitely rather bad.

Fortunately, however, Archie didn't look too chipper, either. Promising myself that I'd dodge all of his punches in the future, I lunged at him with my undamaged right arm. Time for round 2.

Archie went down pretty fast after that, the poor dear. After he fell he left this ugly mucky yellow excretion on the ground near his face. Berwen later told me it was relatively valuable as an alchemical ingredient, so I wrapped it up _very_ tightly in a piece of oilcloth and deposited it in some dark corner of my inventory. Berwen sold me the retort for about 1.5 k and gave me a poultice for my nose. It healed up right quick. I put my left arm in a sling -- where it will stay until tomorrow, by which time it ought to be healed -- and left. Thank gawd that's over.

Tomorrow's going to involve negotiations with the Mage's Guild, or so Helende tells me. For all I know from my experience with Thieves and Mages, I'll probably end up getting my hair singed off in some wizard's duel or fighting a legion of purple monkeys summoned from Oblivion to defend the Guild from hot Bosmer thief types.

Joy.

Until tomorrow, then.

* * *

A/N: Right, well I finally updated. Rejoice! I swear I've had this chapter written down for like two months... I just could never get on for long enough to type it up etc. Well be happy, for summer vacation has arrived! Maybe I'll write more now... fwah. Yeah. 

--Anoriel


	17. 1 Heartfire

The Real Tinuviel

1 Heartfire (Day 17) -- 10:01 PM

I hate mages. I really do. Tricky little buggers, all of them. And I'm a Thief; I know tricky.

Mind, I'm not talking _illegal_ tricky, at least in the general sense. Just slippery nasty Imperially-sanctioned tricky. Like that whole deal leaving the dumb Breton behind at their guild in Ald-Ruhn. I mean, any decent organization would just leave en masse and be done with it. But not the Mage's Guild, oh no. Nobody ever accused the Mage's Guild of being a decent organization.

What's their problem, anyway? It's not like they're dealing with anybody besides the Telvanni, and everybody _hates_ the Telvanni. True, they're an Imperial guild and therefore at odds with the Camonna Tong, but _we_ draw the most fire from them. And hell, we're not even Imperially sanctioned.

I'm sorry. It's just that I had to bargain with the Mage's Guild today, and gods above, do they tick me off. My superiors in my own guild apparently decided we need magical protection from the Tong, so they sent me out to rent a mage.

Easier said than done, naturally. Problem number one was finding the Guild in the first place. Took me about half an hour of scampering around the fat castle just to find it. Nearly fell off the ramparts a couple of times, too. You'd think, if Imperial culture were as advanced as it's cracked up to be, they'd have a halfway-decent architect designing their damned outposts. Especially the big ones like Wolverine Hall. I'd complain, if they hadn't just released me from jail and all.

But yeah. The mages here were all stuck in a single room, which seemed rather un-ostentatious of them (I wonder, though, if it's cos the Telvanni kicked them out of a _bigger_ guildhall a few years back or something) but whatever. This woman Arielle-something was evidently in charge of all business dealings, so I talked with her.

Right. So when my superiors told me I'd be hiring a mage, I expected I'd be bargaining with guild money. Like, an actual wage for our Rent-a-Wiz. Nothing out of _my_ pockets of course; I was only there to negotiate a deal, after all.

Arielle, though, had other ideas. She wanted ebony. _Ebony_. That stuff that's, you know, illegal to trade.

So, Arielle, just cos I'm a Thief, that means I have to do your dirty work for you. Because you're Imperially sanctioned, and I'm not. Wouldn't want to get yourself caught acquiring ebony, would you? Oh no, leave all the black market crap for the Thief to handle. You slimy sneaky tricky little witch.

Though to be fair, she did rather have a point. But I hate getting into... well, things I don't plan on getting into. And being used. Being used is bad.

And mages are so self-righteous anyway. Freaking snobs. I hate them.

Fortunately for me, the Telvanni don't really seem to give a crap about Imperial trade laws, and I bought some ebony off that Anis Seloth woman I robbed the other day. Yes, bought. With my own money. Stupid guild.

So now we've got our precious mage, and Arielle has got her precious ebony, and I've got this dumb ring I couldn't care less about that Helende gave me cos apparently she ran out of actual salary money. I'm so bloody sick of everything right now. Good night.

* * *

A/N: Woo, I'm back! Sorry, all... College apps are murder and I have unfortunately lent my copy of ES3 out. But apps'll be over in three days, and I should be getting my copy back soon and here is a lovely new update for you all with hopefully more to come. Sorry for the delay, but like I said, I've been horribly busy. Merry belated Christmas, Happy belated Chanukah, Happy New Year and Kwanzaa and Hajj etc etc etc. I've missed you all.

--anoriel


	18. 2 Heartfire

The Real Tinuviel  
2 Heartfire (Day 18) -- 4:35 PM

It seems I really can't overemphasize how much my guild bothers me right now. Today Helende sent me off to Ald-Ruhn, of all places, to acquire a -- a -- a _cookbook_, of all things.

Are there no dignified jobs left in the world? More to the point, is there something particularly _special_ about Redoran cooking (besides its liberal use of the scuttle -- don't even _want_ to know what that is -- though I suppose I can't complain, considering _my_ people eat their own dead)? Are the Telvanni bastards _really_ so hoard-happy of all alchemical knowledge that they'd hire someone to steal instructions for... quiche? Gods above.

In any case, I went back to Ald-Ruhn today, an action I remember expressly tagging as something to avoid, but at least this time I had the good sense to use Mage's Guild transport. However, as I stepped out into the Ald-Ruhn Guild of Mages, I couldn't help feeling this might have been a mistake as all the mages were glaring rather suspiciously at me. Oh bugger off, he tried to kill me first.

Back, back, back into the Giant Crab Thing I go, across the rickety bridges and past the pissy guards and finally (!!!) into Llethri manor, where Helende said the person-with-this-cookbook would be located. This Dunmer lady I was looking for was, fortunately, right there in the foyer, so I walked up and said hello.

She gave me this look like I'd just killed and eaten her pet rat and made her watch me do it, and then she said, "Outlander. WHAT do you WANT."

O-oh dear. I'm _definitely_ in Ald-Ruhn. "Umm, your cookbook?" Heh, heh. Yeah, fat chance.

"No, I really don't think so."

Here goes nothing. "Really? Well anyway, I just _love_ what you've done with your hair. And that shirt -- _totally_ brings out your eyes."

Said blisteringly red eyes softened a notch. "Oh, that's so _sweet_ of you."

"Yeah, and I've heard all about you from the... um, from the locals. You are the most amazing person. I think we should be _friends_."

"You know something? So do I. I shall honor our friendship."

"So, uh, now that we're friends, I heard you had this really good cookbook..."

"Oh, that? You can have it, if you really want it. We're _friends_."

Ha ha ha. Freaky racists though they may be, these Dunmer are such suckers for flattery. Makes it almost too easy, really.

So the trip back to Sadrith Mora was pretty fast (at least after I got back out of the crab). I dropped off the book with Big Helende and got an invisibility potion for my troubles, and then called it a day. With the rapid transit this job didn't really take _that_ long, but I think I'm just going to chill for the rest of the day. I've got this feeling from something Helende said that the next job is going to be absolutely impossible to pull off... might as well be well-rested when the time comes.

* * *

A/N: Yay, I'm back! My Oblivion honeymoon is finally over, and I finally got a copy of Morrowind to work with... so, I have re-emerged. If any of you are remotely interested anymore. :)  
--Anoriel 


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